


Orphan

by TariTheNurse



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Abandonment, Actually Decimation is a concept back from the Roman army, Angst, Awkwardness, Breach of personal bounderies, Childlike Wonder, Disagreements, Drama, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Fake Science, Falling In Love, Family, Family Secrets, Feels, Finding a home, Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Good dad Clint Barton, Helping, Home, Hope, Loneliness, Loss of Parent(s), Other, Overprotective Clint Barton, Personal bounderies, Pining, Post-Endgame, Recovery, Sadness, Secret Crush, Secrets, Shyness, Smidgen of Pining, Snappening, Spoilers, Steve Rogers Feels, Strangers, The Blip, The Decimation, Tingle of love, Trust, Which it can't be called because that's every 10th person, complicated past, nerding, nerds, patience - Freeform, the snap
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-01
Updated: 2019-12-21
Packaged: 2020-11-09 06:43:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 13
Words: 18,940
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20849183
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TariTheNurse/pseuds/TariTheNurse
Summary: Spoilers for Endgame!! Takes place after the Attack on New York and The Snappening and deals with both.When reader is brought back together with millions of others, she has to deal with more than most as she tries to get her life back on track.





	1. Where we were

**Author's Note:**

  * For [MaladaptiveNinjaReturns](https://archiveofourown.org/users/MaladaptiveNinjaReturns/gifts).

A tiny family – but all you needed.

For as long as you could remember, it’d just been you and your mom. She saw you through the wobbly toddler years, encouraging to strive for greatness without losing sight of your accomplishments. During elementary school, she dove headfirst into your hobbies and interests which eventually came to include Iron Man. You wanted to be like him - smart, someone who helped others – and your choices and grades in high school were showing it.

_ “Hey, kiddo.” The visor slid up to reveal furrowed brows over chocolaty-green eyes that somehow seemed familiar. “Look at me, okay? Just look at me.”_

_It was impossible not to and you were grateful for such a simple request even if it didn’t change the fact that you _had_ already seen what he was trying to shield you from. The tears rose in your eyes, hot and prickly before they rolled down your cheeks. There was no hesitation when Stark opened his arms for you._

_“I got you, [Y/N],” he cooed softly, the break in the voice only noticeable in hindsight, “I’ll get you somewhere safe…just hold on.”_

_As he stepped through the hole in the wall where the alien had come through, you were less concerned about the distance to the ground but painfully aware that you’d never see your mom or the place you’d called home again._

Iron Man kept his promise, setting you down outside the part of New York where the fighting was and even making sure someone took care of you. He’d saved you and your teenager heart knew you should be thanking him…only problem was that he’d come too late.

As old as you were, and with the flood of orphans after the attack on your home city, it took a while before you got into foster care which in your case was a group home full of chaos and very little time to worry about the needs of a single girl, so you stuck to yourself and your school while counting down the days you could go live on your own.

By your 18th, you were surprised to receive what had been left of your old life and the financial means to sign up for any university you wanted – no strings attached and no name of the benefactor.

… Spring 2018 …

The pencil you’re flipping as you listen to the lecture slips from your hand and skids off the table. Bending down to pick it up, you hear the murmur of voices grow into a confused ruckus with panic in the mix, and it takes you a few seconds to find out why when you get back up, pencil falling from your fingers when you see the last of the professor, Mr. Whyzinzky, shrivel to dust.

“[Y/N]!!” Aidan screams.

The pencil rolls to the edge of the tiny table, teetering on the edge as you try to catch it with a non-existent hand. It feels strange, the numbness that spreads as odd flakes of dust start to swirls around you. Together with the pencil, you lose the balance and see the edge of the table pass you by before –

… Fall 2023 …

It’s impossible to tell who’s more shocked, you or the guy who’s lap you’re perched on. At least Chem 101 becomes a lot more interesting for the freshmen and their professor as you and others apparently appear out of nowhere.

Nothing makes sense.

The guy allows you off his lap, but he and others keep reaching out for you to see if you’re real. The professors are no help either as the chem teacher is holding on to yours for dear life, sobbing hysterically while Mr. Whyzinzky looks as confused as you feel.

“It’s been more than five years,” the freshmen claim as they guide you from the interrupted lecture. _Five years since what?_ Everything looks the same except it doesn’t. There are tiny changes to the hallways or at least the people walking them and it’s not just because of the hectic confusion that has gotten everyone out and about, abandoning their studies to look at people passing as if they’re seeing ghosts.

It takes too long for the memory to come back. By the time a numbing nightmare of dust appears you’re lying on a cot in the gym of the university, the score boards and exit signs casting an odd glow onto the team mascot painted on the wall. In a corner under the bleachers is a TV showing the news of a fight between all sorts of heroes and a villain that supposedly robbed you of five years. Robbed you of your home too, the only connection you had to your mom.

…

The tiles of the showers are slippery under your feet, but at least someone’s been kind to find towels and even a clean shirt. No underwear, so you do your best to wash your panties in the shower, ignoring how cold the water is.

There’s a whole crowd outside Uni. Parent’s, children, siblings, and friends. They’re all looking for someone who had been “dusted” here, hoping that they’re back now, and at least some are because there are reunions happening. _Who would look for me?_ You’d had friends (the past tense is odd), but they must all have moved on and without a family to miss you? Nope, no one is waiting.

With the few coins you have left, you catch the sub to the bank, hoping that your financial advisor is willing to help you even if your ID has expired together with your credit card.

It turns out he might have, but he’s no longer working there after having dusted off in the middle of a meeting five years ago. When he returned, he wanted to spend time with the family, and in his stead is a hollow-eyed older man who looks like he might have seen too much over the years, but he’s willing to help you.

“Your assets are frozen,” he explains flatly, “normally it takes quite a bit to regain access, but I believe we can make an exception in this case.” You sit silently as he clicks vigorously on the keyboard, staring unblinkingly at the thin screen. “Ah, yes…there’s that.”

Without further explanation, he gets up and leaves you sitting there. It’s not right to look at something not meant for you, but if you lean just a bit forward then you can see the screen where the date still claims to be in 2023. There’s also a little notice in a pop-up window, claiming you have something in a bank box. _I do?_

Fifteen minutes later you’re outside with a date to return for the new cards, cash in pocket, and a fat envelope with unknown contents in your hand.


	2. Back to the Roots

You’ve managed to get a bed in a hostel, probably paying overprize now that the demand has risen suddenly. Rumours fly that the returned are starting to find abandoned homes in the outskirts of the city, but it’s just rumours and you don’t really feel like heading further out considering how things are looking just on Manhattan. _Derelict._ New York City has been a ghost town, and even now as the ghosts have taken physical form it’s going to take a lot of work to set things right.

Your mind is far from the worries of what’s to come.

Lying on your stomach on the squeaky bed, a fat stack of papers rests before you together with a very fancy cell phone (accompanied by charger and ear plugs). There’s a recording on that which you haven’t dared watch yet, favouring the documents instead…and those you’ve read and re-read so many times you can almost recite the contents by heart.

“Fuck me…” you sigh as you bury the face in the musty pillow.

“Now now,” Gloria tuts sweetly, “chin up baby girl, it’s gonna work out just fiiine, ya wait ‘n see.”

Gloria is another returned. Originally from Harlem, she’d been surprised to find the rest of the family had moved to New Orleans sometime during the five years. Surprised but not dejected. Kindness incarnate, she has an ability to find the silver lining and she’s become the unofficial mother hen for everyone on the hostel. Soft, round, and with an understanding smile that holds just as much unruliness as her gorgeous ‘fro bobbing on the top of her head, the woman might as well have been made for caring.

Now she tiptoes over to you, sitting on the edge of the bed to give you a friendly squeeze. “Tell mama Glory what’s up, hon.”

It’s a jumbled mess of memories and explanations you present her with, and it takes a while before you’ve calmed down enough to really begin to make sense. Gloria lets you talk, holding you close and rocking you gently when the memories of your mother are too hard, and all the while the sounds from outside filter in through the half-open window, hinting at a life where people reunite and are happy.

“Okay, so ya tellin’ meh tha’ yar daddy was there all along but he ain’t got the _balls_ t’ tell ya?” It stings to hear it put so simply. “But _no_oow he gone left y’a message sayin’, ‘girly come find meh I’m sorry’? Well shugs! Sounds to meh like ya owe it t’yaself more than him to go face the guy, don’tcha think so?”

“…I can’t…” The sweet woman looks at you with a puzzled look until you point at a name on one of the documents. “He died yesterday.” _Leaving behind a wife and a daughter – your half-sister._

… Morgan …

Grown-ups are coming and going, all sending her tiny smiles that don’t reach the eyes before they go to mom. Mom’s sad. She cries a lot but only when she thinks Morgan doesn’t see, like last night when she should’ve been asleep but snuck out of bed to get a juice pop. Dad will know what to say…but he’s not here and mom cries even more when Morgan asks when he’ll be home, then they cuddle up with blankies and their favourite books or maybe even a movie instead of mom telling what is going on and where dad is.

Then there’s a day where mom sits Morgan down. Nose red and eyes puffy.

“There’s something I have to explain, sweetie,” mommy begins as fresh tears dangle from her pretty lashes, “about daddy…”

It doesn’t quite make sense how dad has left without going to any place. People can’t just be gone, can they? Morgan knows the story of when daddy went to space and found auntie Nebula, but this isn’t like that. At least it doesn’t _feel_ like that.

…

The next day the house is full of people again. Most are grown-ups as usual but there are a few almost-grown-ups. Everyone talks very quietly, making Morgan nervous about being too loud or too wild…maybe it would upset mommy anyways, so it’s better to be good even if it itches in her entire tiny body to pull a prank or say something funny the way dad always does. But she doesn’t, sticking instead closely to mom or Happy while looking at the many people.

_I’ve seen them on pictures._ Photographs with daddy from before Morgan was born or old movie clips that she once found when playing with FRIDAY without dad knowing. A few of them came around to the house as well and it had made dad upset, she could tell. Now they’re all here, watching silently as the flowers and the metal flow out onto the lake like it belongs there instead of with mommy and Morgan and Happy.

That’s when she sees the woman standing on the other shore. Silent and alone, it looks like she’s hugging herself. _I’ll hug her!_ But it’s far to the other side, and when Morgan finally has gotten the attention of a grown-up, Nebula, and turns to point her out then she’s gone.

… Reader …

Tears sting in your eyes and you’re not even sure why because you’d never gotten to know the man! He hauled your ass out of a damaged building, but that’s it, that’s the only fatherly thing he’s openly done for you…well that and apparently save the world from getting torn apart by some purple space-grape of a giant…and returned all of you who’d been dusted. But nothing that gave you the right to scour the internet for clues just so you could show up like some creep and watch his funeral from afar.

Wiping the face angrily, you stumble through the woods without bothering to skirt around bushes or avoid sliding on the half-rotten branches hidden beneath old leaves. It’s a pure miracle that you can see enough to notice the shining metal swinging at you and stopping an inch before your throat.

“Who are you?” There’s anger in the female voice, anger and pain.

More concerned with what appears to be a fucking sword than the speaker, you focus on standing stock still rather than answer. Wrong move. Slowly but surely, the incredibly sharp looking blade advances, driving you backwards until your back hits the trunk of a tree.

“Who are you?” the angry woman repeats, “Why did you spy?”

“I’m – I didn- it was stupid! O_kay_?!”

Frantic with fear you finally look up only to receive a new shock at the sight of the owner of the voice: blue skin, eyes that looks like the black emptiness of camera lenses but even that’s not the weirdest. It’s the parts that are obviously metal that gets to you. _This is a dream, a nightmare. This can’t be real._

Maybe she’s used to people staring and perhaps it annoys her, or she’s hell bend on finding out the truth that she allows the metal edge to rest against your throat for a second before she pulls it away, raising it overhead with a sneer, ready to slice through your faltered excuses and throat. _Oh crap. I’m gonna get killed by a Smurf._

“Nebula!” A new arm appears from behind you to grab the woman’s wrist, quickly followed by the owner who looks considerably more normal. “You can’t just go around stabbing people. We’ve been over this…”

The blue woman, who doesn’t seem overly cloud-like, shifts uneasily like a toddler who has to explain why they were doing something bad. “I was…not gonna stab her…just decapitate her.”

“Please…just le-let me go!”

It’s nothing more than a croak that escapes your lips but it’s enough to make the man turn awkwardly to face you. _Shit..._ The face isn’t that of an unknown. You’ve seen it on photos from news outlets but more importantly from the files Tony Stark had left in the bank box for you, explain who you can trust if you ever come back and want to get a hold of him. You’re staring into the face of James Rhodes and he’s staring right back, mouth agape as he takes in your features and especially eyes.

“You’re Tony’s big girl,” he simply states.


	3. Family or not

Of course it’s not a big happy family reunion (whatever’s left of it). It’s an awkward walk through the autumn forest, stuck between a dude known for his robot suit and a chick who _is_ part robot. _Cyborg._ At least Rhodes, because you’ve recognized him even with the lack of formal introductions, seems to be a bit sorry about the way things are going, but you probably bear some of the guilt for that as well.

No one says a lot after an initial phone call has been made, so it’s just the wet crunch of leaves muffling the footsteps as you trudge around the lake to a place probably used for canoeing during the summer. Now it’s place for a series of black, imposing cars with equally stern people whom you’ve seen on youtube, news coverage, and the few printed papers still in the making nowadays, and where Rhodes hadn’t seemed surprised by your existence…well…it’s a very different matter for the rest and your only comfort is that not all of the funeral guests facing you.

_I should’ve stayed in bed today._ The fight-or-flight response is long gone, replaced by a leaden sludge internally seeping from the guts to the feet. _Why did I come?_ Spying on the funeral of a dad you’d only just found out that you had had wasn’t going to bring him or anyone else back, and right now? Right now you wanted your mom, not for the first time and probably not for the last time since she got killed years ago. _Why did you never tell me, mommy?_ A new wave of guilt wrecks you, tearing at your heart for blaming the only family you’ve ever known, and you feel the hot swell of tears threaten to fill you eyes and drip from your nose.

_I won’t let them have that too. _No one moves a muscle as you clench your fists, your shoulders rising and falling as you combat yourself through the breathing. And no one interrupts Rhodes as he briefly explains about a trivial escapade decades ago that introduced the great Tony Stark to the concept of consequences. _Consequence. Me._ Just an accident that could be shoved into the dark recesses of a closet. No wonder your mom hadn’t told you who your father was when you were a kid, begging to have a full set of parents like your classmates.

But something must have changed with the Snappening, something else than just guilt had reared its head and made Stark leave you the answers to all the questions you’d ever had…even if he didn’t know id you’d be back.

“Confusion,” a dreamy voice lisps to your right, “sadness and…frustration…there’s so much hurt.”

You don’t look at her nor the person saying some nonsense along the lines of “I am groot”, whatever that’s supposed to mean.

“Oh…sorry.”

“Bad time or not, what do we do with her?” Nebula sneers more to herself than the rest. “Apparently, we’re not supposed to kill her.”

Even with the decent boots you’d scrounged, your toes are getting cold while you let them talk, make up their minds about your future both because you know these people will only leave you very little to say but mainly because you have no freaking idea what you want. The plan had only reached as far as to have a look at the funeral to see what you might have been missing out on. After that? Well, plan or not, now things have been set in motion that you can’t undo.

“Alright, [Y/N],” Rhodes finally turns to you with a frown, “let’s get you somewhere warm, waddaya say?”

You just nod and crawl onto the backseat of the black sedan he points at where you’re joined by the two men with the broadest shoulders, one of which is rock solid. _"Best friends since childhood, Bucky Barnes and Steven Rogers were inseparable on both schoolyard and battlefield.”_ Sure they were close then and apparently now because the men don’t leave a lot of room for you and you don’t dare shift for a more comfortable position, choosing instead to sit with everything possible tugged in tightly.

It’s unbearably silent after the last car door slams and the cortege of black vehicles move onto the road leading around the lake. _Why did I come? I’m an idjit._ The two relics makes it unbearably warm to sit in the car…or perhaps it’s the nerves. But you’ll be damned if you speak up now even if it’s to ask for a window to be opened. No one question Rhodes as he navigates them further from the Stark Residence, following a short stretch of highway before heading to what must be the nearest motel lying snuggly by the river.

“I’ll uhh…get a room for ya, wait here,” War Machine (minus armour) announces and leaves two super soldiers, one orphan, and a blue cyborg behind without waiting for an answer.

_This isn’t for me, right?_ “He…doesn’t have to. I’m sure I can get my bed back at the hostel.”

There’s a very obvious snort of disbelief from the front, but at least the Captain is kind enough to try to turn to face you and explain: “Don’t take this the wrong way, miss, but this is for _our _sake. Gives us a chance to talk with you…know where you are.”

“So I’m not s’posed to leave…”

“No.”

“Nebula!” Rogers chastises to no other effect than a scoff and shrug.

_Why not admit it too, Capcicle?_ “Not a prisoner, just…grounded? Does that make you my daddy?”

The blush spreading rapidly across the blond man’s face is gloriously deepened by Barnes’ rolling laughter which continues as the car doors are opened from the outside by the only guy who knew about your existence. Behind him is a tiny crowd including a guy with a mohawk, a green woman, and…_the fuck? Are those antennae?!_

… Clint …

Good, old Tony Always-a-Surprise Stark. Not only did the guy have to go off and be the biggest hero of them all, he’s made sure to make a backup and kept her tugged away safe and far away from the messy (yet glamorous) life he’d lived. Glancing over at the chick, Clint can’t help but see parts of both the father’s and even the little sister’s features. _The eyes._ Fuck, it hurts more than he’d imagined.

_Wonder what Nata–_ But no, Natasha won’t have any thoughts on what to do. There’s no calm logic from the world’s best redhead to counter the scared and cowed emotions streaming from [Y/N], as she’s called, who’s waiting silently for a verdict.

She’d come prepared, Tony’s daughter. All the documents and shit that Stark had left after the Snappening are spread out on the bed as proof of her existence just in case no one would believe her or Rhodes.

“I _am_ Grooot?”

“What do you want?” the raccoon translates easily. “Why show up today? What’s the point?”

Nimble hands wring a snippet of a jacket that seems to be second hand. “I dunno…guess it was sorta to…” She sighs, and it almost makes sense to Clint what this is about. “I only remember seeing him once and I didn’t _know_ then. Now I’ve got a-a half-sister? It doesn’t feel real!”

“So you went, made sure they’re there…then what?” The odd creature is feisty for its size, a sort of feral smugness playing on the little face. “Want money?”

“No, that’s not –“

“All his cool gear?”

“Why would I –“

“Ah! Marry the grieving widow to –“

A mix of shouts and protests shut the furry interrogator up even if it’s probably only going to be for a while – it doesn’t take a lot of time together with Rocket to figure that out. Or why.

“Listen, I don’t _have_ a fucking plan. _Okay_? I appear on some poor guys _lap_ in the middle of a lecture only to find out it’s been more than five _years_! I got _no_ home, _no_ one to go to, no job. _Maybe_, some old pictures and books have survived, but that’s it. Stark might’ve been my father, but he’s never been my _dad_ and I don’t belong with his family!” There’s a subtle movement from the Quill-guy, but no words break the roaring silence that follows [Y/N]’s outburst.

_She needs a home._ “You’re not going back to the hostel.” Clint hears himself declare, already pulling the phone out of the pocket. “You’re not gonna be on your own.”


	4. Foster Care for Adults

… Reader …

You’ve had no energy to protest, but if you’d had then it’s likely nothing would’ve changed the mind of the grim mohawk-dude. Clint Barton, archer extraordinaire and known as Hawkeye, who (after squaring it with the wife) has opened his home to you and herded you onto a little dangerous-looking plane together with his family. The two older kids, Lila and Cooper, don’t say much if anything to you. Well, the little one doesn’t either, but at least he’s staring openly rather than pretending to be busy with the phones or each other.

“Mo-om?” Nathaniel’s clear voice cuts over the sound of the engine. “Is she gonna be my sisther?”

In a flash you’re back to the childhood where terms like siblings and parents were used too loosely or as a means to hurt you, keep you separate from other kids at school. Even within the foster home, there were kids who wielded those kinds of words as weapons, cutting deep reminders into your heart to make sure you never forget what you’d lost. As if that was possible.

In the same flash, the little kid should have fallen over dead from the glared his siblings send him. _Turned into dust._ Of course, he doesn’t notice, but looks at his mom for an answer she hardly can give.

“Listen guys.” Clint pushes a few buttons before turning the pilot entire seat to face everyone. “I know this is a…surprise. [Y/N] came back from the Blip too and she has nowhere to stay…” Nathaniel merrily begins to hum a song under his breath made up entirely of bleeps. “She’s gonna be a guest until things are sorted out, okay?”

It’s toe-cringing to listen to the Avenger give The Speech™. _He means well._ Facts are you’re an adult who can talk for yourself, and you don’t have as much of a choice in coming as Clint makes it sound.

_Sitting on the bed of the motel, you didn’t know which hero to look at - none of them were the one you needed to get answers because Stark was dead and with him the hope of a better explanation than the documents and files on the tiny drive provided. Facts. The facts were there…but it wasn’t enough._

_“How did you find out about the fu-“ Rhodes had to take a deep breath before continuing, “about the funeral?”_

_He already knew more about you than you liked, such as your (now delayed) university degree in Medicine and Technology where you’d been working on cutting edge ways to deliver medicine to the right place in the body with biodegradable nano-bots. Tony Stark and his old-time pal had kept track of you ever since you were born and your father decided to split…as if that somehow should compensate for the absence. Still, Rhodes and his buddies were questioning you for more information. _

_Glaring at the furrowed brows, you decided you already were royally fucked. “Watched the news, put two-n-two together, hacked a phone.” _

_“What do you want from Pepper ‘nd Morgan?” There it was – the protectiveness._

_“Nothin’, I just…the Blue Group chick already asked me this!”_

_On and on they had gone, never relenting despite the circles you were talking in. In the end, only the talking raccoon was stubborn enough to continue (though both the coloured women had offered assistance by torture)._

A shiver runs down your spine at the memory. Yeah, it’s a good thing Clint Barton decided to bring you along even if it’s just to keep an eye on you rather than help. You send Laura a shadow of a smile before unbuckling from the seat to make your way over to the pilot’s seat. The domed sky is intense, partially coloured with the drama of sunset but also much darker above the plane than you’d expected. It stretches towards the curve of the horizon, dotted with fluffy clouds. Far underneath are the rolling fields smaller than a fingernail, roads like grey thread cutting through a landscape until it finds a glowing pearl, a town where the lights are starting to shine.

“Not a bad view, huh?” The comment is so relaxed that you almost think it’s your imagination until the archer sends you a shy smile.

_Maybe he’s not that bad._ “Yeah…’s pretty.” There’s a silence between the two of you – less forced, somehow. “It’s umm nice of you to…y’know, let me stay. Better than a motel with a raccoon and a blue assassin.”

…

_I’m gonna die!_ Clint Barton has landed the plane in the middle of fucking nowhere and you’ve never been further from civilization as you are now. Even in the darkness, you can feel the forest sighing, long branches creaking in the autumn wind as they try to reach you and the Bartons (who are completely unfazed by it). _Give me streetlights! Anything! _Flashes on phones light up the ground, granting your wish to a certain point.

At least they lead you away from the trees, and while it’s still night with no moon the darkness isn’t quite as dense out in the open. Tall grass catch on your salvaged boots and there’s a very distinct feeling of something chasing you…but nothing when you turn to look. For a second, you whish you were in Nathaniel’s place: he’s sound asleep on Laura’s arm, drool wetting her shoulder each time his head bounces from the steps she takes.

The house appears from the dark as a huge, even darker mass before the lights reach far enough to illuminate the wooden steps of the porch. Lila’s ahead, skipping up the steps and reaching the screen door where she flips a switch. Suddenly, stringed lights spread their glow and the house feels wonderfully real and safe even if it’s still dark inside.

… Clint …

The house still smells musty after years of misuse and there’s a ton of things for him to fix. The boiler works, though, and Laura and the kids have been busy cleaning the last few days while Clint took care of the leaks in the roof and the stock of firewood. Mostly, he’d walked in a daze simply to look at them, touch their hair, pull them into awkward hugs in the hopes it wouldn’t just be a dream.

_I didn’t think I’d be back to live here._ Clint had tried at first to be on his own, but it was wrong – an empty house full of the ghosts of his family and memories that threatened with eluding him even if the smallest item or scent brought them crashing down on him with a force that’d knock his legs away. That was why he went to stay with Nat at the Compound. She dealt by doing things, trying to clean up the mess one crime or fucked up situation at a time because there weren’t enough cops, no military strong enough. The remnants of the Avengers was needed and the two of them teamed up with others…and nothing was right anyways.

“Baby?” A soft hand curls around his elbow before stroking his triceps. _Laura._ “We’re here, honey, we’re with you again.”

She understands him better than anyone. The five years felt like seconds for Laura, but she understands how fucked up it was for him and how afraid he is that they’ll suddenly be gone again. Pulling her tight, Clint buries the nose in her dark hair to maybe memorize the scent, at least to have her inside and out.

“You’re the best wife I could ever want,” he mumbles.

Laura smiles against the collar of his t-shirt, making his heart flutter. “Oh, I know,” she smirks, “any other wife would’ve _lost_ it after coming home to such a _mess_!”

It’s a joke and it does make him laugh…but it hurts too because now he’s added to the mess that’s their lives. “…or taken in a stranger.”

“Hm.” It’s almost a tiny scoff. “She needs a home and we have that. I just…it’s a _horrible_ way to find out about your heritage. She must be so confused?”

… Reader …

Fed, watered, and teeth brushed? _Done. _

Bed, check.

Borrowed pyjama that’s only a little bit musty, check.

Settling down under the thick covers, it’s impossible not to enjoy having an entire guest room for yourself rather than the dorm at the hostel where ten other people snore and fart all night long. Tonight you’re going to sleep great, you decide as you turn off the bed side lamp. Your eyelids are heavy. It’s so dark, you can’t tell if you already have closed the eyes or not. _Silence and sleep, here I come._

The wind outside the window picks up in strength, finding a gap between two boards to whistle with when the gusts hit just right. Somewhere in the house a floorboard creaks – maybe Clint is tugging his kids in? And then it might be his wife who’s using the water, making the pipes gurgle inside the wall. Whenever one sound ends another takes over, all unexpected and unfamiliar enough that they startle you awake. Burrowing deeper under the duvet, you try to cover the ears but then it’s your own heartbeat you can hear instead, thumping away with a constant rush of blood that mingles with the sighs of the wind.


	5. Tea and Fate

There’s a fuzziness enveloping your mind that makes everything appear to happen at a slower pace than usual, voices distant and warped. You have to force every movement before your body begrudgingly accepts to carry it out, clumsily too, so it’s a miracle you don’t break anything before breakfast is over. At least the two big kids seem to be similarly slow this morning. _Why’s he so hyper? _Glancing at the little Nathaniel over your cup of coffee, it strikes you as unnatural how he can be so cheerful, constantly babbling about the things he is planning to do during the day as he bounces on the chair.

“– and then can we go down t’the creek and catch tadpol’th? You wanna come, [Y/N]?”

Huge, pleading eyes are staring at you and suddenly it makes sense when people talk about puppy eyes because not even a golden retriever would be able to reach the levels of cuteness the sticky, noisy kid just achieved. Scrambling for words (preferably a nice way to turn him down), you find yourself stuttering and mumbling before Laura saves you.

“There won’t be any tadpoles now, sweetie. It’s fall, and they’ve all grown up into toads and frogs.” She glances at you with an apologetic smile. “And I think, perhaps, [Y/N] needs a bit of time to get used to being here.”

_What I need is a nap._ Instead of saying it, you just nod with an attempt at a noncommitting smile that might not have amounted to anything more than a grimace of questionable characteristic. _A nap and a plan._

… Morgan …

Uncle Rhodes and mommy have gone into the kitchen and shut the door, leaving Happy as the only entertainment.

“I’m booooooored!” Morgan mutters, mainly to herself because the first attempts at getting the gummy-bear of a man to play with her have failed already. “Can I go play on my own?”

It takes a moment for him to react. “Huh? What, yeah…just stay in the house, ‘kay bug?”

She answers with a cheer and a wave, already bouncing up the stairs to fetch her favourite teddy bear and the space stone from aunt Nebula – you never know what you’re going to need when going on an adventure (even if it’s indoors).

…

Someway or other, Morgan doesn’t quite know how, the exploration has brought her to daddy’s work room where the broad table hums invitingly. He never keeps any of his tools in the house, they’ve all been banished to the shed except this one and all the boring books and papers. Sure enough. Resting the chin on the edge of the humming piece of furniture, she can see a stack of folders on one side and a few scraps with scribbles and lines looking like a robot…or a dog.

_Daddy’s things aren’t toys._ Crawling up into the soft swivel chair, she enjoys a few rounds before allowing the two treasures to take part in the joy of the secret carousel…now and then stealing a glance between the messy strands of hair at the table. _Not toys._

He has used it so many times even with Morgan around. A pat in that corner. A wave of the hand. Blue light fills the room in the middle of the day, making the girl think of the swimming pool at grandma’s and grandpa’s.

“Hello, Morgan.”

The voice is so nice and sweet even if the little girl just did something she isn’t supposed to. “Hi, Fwiday.” Morgan doesn’t blush. Almost never.

“What can I help you with, sweetheart?”

The answering question pops out all on its own. “Where’s dad? Mom keeps cwying ‘cause he’s gone.”

“Oh, sweetie…”

… Reader …

You had never quite imagined that you’d be doing a conference call with a handful of heroes while sitting on the hood of an old John Deere in a barn. _There’s a shit ton of things I’ve never imagined. _Looking over at Clint, sprawled in the seat and with the feet up on the steering wheel, you could almost be lulled into a sense of calm. That things aren’t completely deranged.

Time and again, you’ve felt like an amateur ice dancer trying to keep your life in balance despite the odds so you shouldn’t be feeling as lost as you do. And still…this time you have no counterweight, no place to call home and no person to guide you through the fog. The voices are familiar, in some twisted kind of way, talking gently as if that magically will calm your nerves…but they don’t know how it does exactly the opposite because they sound condescending just like the overbearing social workers and potential adoptive parents that turned you down for no other reason than being too old. For not looking enough like them that you could pass as their “real” kid on a photograph.

“She’s gotten a copy of the files,” Rhodes is explaining, “to go over with her attorney.”

_To see if I’m good enough, if she really has to be stuck with me?_ “Why?” The question leaves the line silent. “I’m not asking for inheritance…or to be part of her life! I just...”

The sympathetic look Clint gives you is almost worse than the unanswered questions and you close your eyes to it. _Deep breaths._ Pictures of Tony Stark dance in your mind together with memories of your mother, each of them sporting features that you would be able to point out when looking in a mirror. _Like when I was a kid. _

Time and again, before the aliens attacked New York, you had conjured up an imaginary world where you had both a mom and a dad – the latter being none other than Tony Stark. In that world, you all lived together, and your mom would say that you had her looks and your dad’s smarts which would make him laugh and pull both of you into a hug. In that fairy-tale –

A hand brushes your arm gingerly, waking you with a start from the reveries – lost long ago in the smouldering rubble of a tiny apartment – to find Clint’s face a foot from yours. Keen eyes study every twitch of the brow, maybe even counting the blackheads on your nose, and you pull back in annoyance.

“Y’okay there?” he asks low enough that people listening in won’t hear.

_What do you care?_ “Sure.” Clearing you voice, it’s all you can do to return the attention to the phone. “As I said…I just needed to know if it was true.”

“If need be, would you be willing to do a DNA-test?” You already recognize the voice as the Hulk’s.

A non-committal shrug before you realize they can’t see it. “Sure.”

…

From your spot on the bed on the second floor, you can look out over the field stretching towards the forest. Everything is drenched, covered by sheer greyness that makes the grasses bow and the fallen leaves stick to each other as if hoping the wind won’t be able to move them. The sun is setting somewhere beyond this drab world, but no colours of rose gold and purple reach this far to warm your body now the layers of borrowed clothes and a musty blanket don’t cut it.

You can hear the bubbling giggle that erupts sporadically from Nathaniel. This time you hear Cooper too, a boyish version of his mother…when he can drag himself out of the teenage moods, at least. He’s not that bad, according to your limited experience of kids in full families, just kind of sullen with a tendency to walk away when bothered. _Like whenever I enter the room._ He’d barely stayed in the seat to finish breakfast. At lunch he’d walked in, seen you, and declared not to be hungry before leaving.

Some people might think it was a relief that Lila sat through the meal, but the glaring was tough to ignore. _What’ve I done to them?_ Your eyes prickle dangerously, and your nose is close to dripping too, callously ignoring the deep breaths and stubborn, unspoken promises that you don’t care. _I don’t._ It’s not like you haven’t gone through these things before back when you were their age, finding kids scowling at you for no apparent reasons. _It’s better than pity._ There’s plenty of that to go around and –

*knock knock*

Startled by the sound, body trying to crawl in on itself to feel small and inconspicuous, you hold your breath in the hopes that you heard wrong, but it happens again. Slow but resolute knocking.

“[Y/N]?” Even though she’s rarely spoken to you, the voice of Lila is easily recognizable. “Can I…is’t okay if I c’m’in?”

_I’m an adult. I gotta act like one._ Any wetness by the eyes is hastily rubbed away. “Sure.” Clear and steady.

The door creaks after ears of disuse, allowing the appearance of the back of Lila’s shoulder as she slides the elbow off the handle. _Huh?_ The moment there’s room, she turns to reveal a little tray with two enormous cups of something steaming and a little tray of cookies. A shy smile, shoulders carefully rising before being lowered with a newfound confidence as you return the silent greeting by making room on the bed for the girl.

Outside, the rain fights to break the grey haze obscuring the world but in reality adding to it. The flaming colours that had managed to maintain a desperate hold on the twigs so far are disappearing in an early dusk. A moment ago that misery had your attention, resonating within, now it’s chased away by an awkward, lanky girl sitting cross-legged before you while apologizing for the lack of milk.

“Hey! It’s okay,” you manage to interrupt her at a break for air, “I’ll drink it any which way, so thanks…”

“Good, good…”

Drops pummel the window. Tea scent heats your faces causing a new flush to be added to Lila’s cheeks. _Good tea,_ as if that’s the reason you feel guilt gnawing for the negativity against the girl…a negativity that evaporates like the steam curling above the hot liquid.

“I’m sorry,” Lila admits, and you’re not sure why even though you have an idea, “I…Cooper and me…” For a moment all her attention seems to be on the cookie she steeps in the mug. _Seems._ “I’ve been a jerk, haven’t I?”

_Alright! Up front now!_ “Maybe. I guess I’ve been too...” Sharing a glance you recognize some of Clint in the way she takes in every detail. “So this is like…a truce? Ceasefire?”

“Hoped so.”

You can’t hug it out with her. There’s been too many fake hugs in your life from people who claimed they’d be there for you. Lila doesn’t promise anything except to try to be decent and that’s something you can mirror. _Good thing too._ You’ve got nothing else to offer.

“– they say I need to start school Monday.” Clearly, you’ve missed the start of whatever the middle Barton kid’s saying, but you can fill it out. “I’m gonna be like the _only _senior from my year left! Can you _imagine_?”

“A little, maybe. People _did_ stare a shitlo–…sorry…a _lot_ at uni. But hey! At least the sophomore was only _surprised_ when I appeared on his lap. At first.”

“Nooo!” Wide eyes followed by a crinkle of amusement. “Was he hot?”

_What?!_ That line of thought had never occurred to you. “Uhm…I don’t actually remember, I’m just glad he didn’t push me onto the floor.”

There’s a tiny snort of giggles, “Hey, welcome back! _Yeet_!” Her tea almost spills as she imitates the student forcibly tossing you aside.


	6. Where we are

The voices are reduced to mere murmurs as you sit in the darkness and listen, counting under the breath to yourself. A pair of footsteps hurry past, light enough to must belong to one of the kids. Moments later there’s a grunt followed rapidly by a thump and a curse obviously belonging to Clint and you know you can’t come out yet.

_88, 89, 90…_

Steps, always surprisingly elegant despite the man’s strength. Sharp light blinds you momentarily before you can see the archer stare at you with surprise more than stress…but he should worry. Time’s almost up.

“Nice thinking,” he whispers, “you’ll be safe there.”

With that he closes the cabinet door and hurries on with his own preparations.

_96, 97…_

Or have you gotten the timing wrong? Is it still safe to move? Sure, the Avenger says you’ll be safe, but even he can be wrong. On the other hand it’s a huge risk to abandon your hiding spot and be caught moving around like an obvious and slow target. _Not everyone can be circus acrobats or whatever._ No, it’s better to stay put even if it’s crammed and the air is stuffy.

_99, 100._

“READY OR NOT! HERE I COME!” Cooper’s voice cuts through walls and pantry doors with ease.

Somewhere upstairs, a floorboard creaks. There’s a giggle from the living room, probably from Nathaniel hiding under the couch as usual – a thought that makes something inside you a little bit warm and protective of the kid with the bubbly laughter and a love for tadpoles and frogs. And dogs. And who wants two scoopfuls of mini-marshmallows in the hot chocolate.

You have to hold you breath as a teenage boy tiptoes past your hiding spot, and you don’t dare exhale until there’s the telltale squeak from the door under the stairs where random outerwear gets stored in boxes. It’s a good place to hide…but not occupied this time so Cooper has to continue the search up the wooden steps.

_To switch or not?_ He probably won’t look the same place twice, and frankly you left leg’s cramping and the kink in the neck might never ever leave again.

Carefully, you poke the cabinet open (pleased with yourself that you chose the only one without hinges in need of oiling) to look out. _Thank you, Clint, for sturdy DIY interior design_, other wise you’d never been able to sit in the top cabinet. Another silent praise floats along when you see he’s moved the chair you used to help you up even further away. A second from deeming the coast clear, you hear the sound of soft footsteps in the hall and Lila skids into view, unwittingly stealing the much more comfortable alternative from you.

Almost a month has passed since you first arrive at the Bartons’ farm, and it’s getting dangerously close to feeling like a home although the dynamic among all of you sometimes is a bit…wobbly. At least you can make yourself useful by assisting in the repairs or cleaning. Laura has quickly realized that there’s an affinity for fixing anything with a motherboard (or at the very least a power source) in you skillset that Clint seems to lack regardless of his handiness.

Other than that…not a lot has happened. There are no news about your potential Stark-status and what that might bring with it. You don’t care. As Lila and Cooper make plans to finish high school, perhaps reuniting with some of their former classmates at college or Uni, you too pick up what’s been salvaged of the project that should have been your master’s degree. Clint has been nice enough to arrange for the stuff in storage to be sent out to…wherever the farm is. Amongst it, you’ve recovered your old laptop and the various size bots used throughout the process. Technology has moved on since then, a lot, forcing you to revise the work for both better and worse.

So yeah, you play hide-n-seek with a family that isn’t yours but has taken you in. Some days you even manage to forget for a brief moment that this is not your life. When it does, though, you steal away from the happy, rowdy Bartons. Blanket under the arm and some thing you’re tinkering on in the hand as you make your way to the place you can be quiet with the thoughts: the old, green, Deere. Sometimes it’s the relic of a tractor that gets taken care off…but it feels almost wrong to do enough to get it running.

It’s one of those days when Clint comes to find you, bringing the wind and snow into the barn with him before the old wood falls back in place as a shield against the elements.

“Why don’t y’pick up the phone?” Nimble hands rub together to keep the warmth.

The screwdriver almost slips. Almost. Head halfway inside the old engine, brows scrunched in concentration, you have the liberty to recompose yourself. “On silent.”

“Well, Pepper’s been tryin’ to call you.”

… Morgan …

Mommy doesn’t know yet that Morgan knows. The little girl is dying to reveal the secret but understands how important it is for adults to be the ones to say “surprise”, but getting to hang out with aunt Nebula an entire weekend? It’s going to be great! Auntie Neb is so cool, and sweet, and she tells the best space pirate stories with real aliens and bad guys and good guys on faraway planets and spaceships. And she tells stories about dad, too, about the game he taught her. Perhaps Morgan and Nebula will do a tournament? Either way, nothing can ruin the weekend. Not even Nebula’s awful cooking, because they’ll just end up ordering burgers and eating candy as if mom hadn’t told them not to.

So the smart, little girl waits for when mom’s packing before sidling into the room, hands behind the back so her tummy pokes outwards and big dark eyes glued to the way the hands move to fold the clothes carefully into the suitcase. She doesn’t make a sound, just watches, quivering with excitement and a twang of worry because she doesn’t actually know _why_ mommy is leaving.

“Oh! I hadn’t heard you, Guna!” For a moment the hurried hands pause to cup Morgan’s face and noses meet so gently it tickles and the daughter giggles with delight. “Finish your hot choc?”

“Yeah!” Indeed she has, including swiping the inside of the mug with a finger to get the last stickiness from the ‘mallows. “Where you going, mommy?”

The little girl notices the hesitation but doesn’t think much of it because mom’s had her mind a lot of places since dad left, making her tired and forgetful. She still cries when she thinks Morgan won’t notice. The little girl has cried too. Things were better before and it doesn’t make sense when everyone, even Friday, say that he won’t be back ever, that he’s gone completely. _Maybe one day I’ll understand,_ she promises herself.

“I’m going to visit Clint and Laura, you remember them? They had three kids and one of them is almost as old as you?”

She remembers the boy. She’d wanted to play with him, but something had kept her from it like it wasn’t a day where you were supposed to play. Perhaps they can play some other time, though, get Happy to make pancakes for them or Nebula to teach them how to catch F’sakis.

“Okay.”

“I’ll be home soon, I promise…” Mom trails off, nose going red like Morgan knows it does before the crying and she almost reveals that she knows about Nebula before mom continues, “Nebula’s coming, is that okay? Otherwise I call the babysitter and y–“

“YAY!!! I don’t need a sitter! Pleeaase!” She wrings her small hands and bats her eyelashes, grownups can’t help but fall for that, promising to be a good girl.


	7. Bittersweet

Tired to the bone but unable to sit still. Ever since Clint told you last night that Pepper Potts-slash-Stark would be visiting today, you haven’t been able to relax let alone sleep. Throughout the night, you’d been tossing and turning along with the millions thought buzzing around in your brain like a swarm of pesky flies. _Why’s she coming?_ You had imagined a simple, official letter from some office or maybe a phone call from a lawyer. Maybe.

Now the woman is on the way to the Barton family’s farm, and you’ve figuratively worn through the soles of the boots from all the pacing. First in the little bedroom, then through the entire house before you escaped to the barn.

Fingers trace lines in the thick layer of dust of Deere’s grooves, mixing with the residue of oil trapped in your finger whirls – no amount of scrubbing is enough, but Laura doesn’t seem to mind. Passing by the front, one of the ancient headlights is still sitting crooked after you changed the bulb, and your hands automatically busy themselves with the little task still left before the M-model would be presentable after too many years of misuse. It feels good to fix the tractor, to give it a chance to do what it’s made for instead of sitting useless, cooped up in some dusty place without a purpose. Machines need something to do…just like humans.

It’s not long before your attention is fully focused on the wiring for the electrical starting, mind at ease as it has tuned in to the ideas of its creators from the late 40’ies. There’s a clear logic to their work which you now admire, trying to respect it as you peel away the old copper with fabric wrapping so stiff it might actually break. There might be a thin layer of aluminum in between but honestly, you’re not sure, and you become enthralled with the task of figuring out the system to the point that you don’t hear the barn door opening or the muted sound of high heels treading easily across the uneven floor.

“Miss [Y/L/N],” a female voice suddenly interrupts your work, clear and demanding, “can I have a word with you?”

_Here we go. _You manage to sneak a glance down yourself, grimacing at the dirt already adorning your sweater and jeans – not to mention your hands even after you wipe them in an old cloth – before you turn to stand face to face with Tony Starks widow. Her entire posture screams self-esteem. This is a woman, who has worked hard and knows exactly what sort of respect she deserves, someone stubborn enough to deal with NY’s former most notorious playboy. Even with dark circles around the eyes and sunken cheeks, Virginia Pepper Potts is a force of nature.

Silence stretches until it becomes unbearable, making you want to flee rather than do as you do: “Hi there, Mrs…Stark?”

“I…I kept my maiden name…” she trails off, gaze dancing between your dirty hands and your face.

You know she’s trying to find the similarities. Damn it, you’ve spent hours in front of mirrors doing the same, suddenly recognizing where you got your eyes from or the lopsided smile when something quietly amuses you.

“So…erm…I didn’t expect…” The words just don’t want to cooperate. “What can I do?”

“Right.” The pale woman manages to shake herself out of the stupor. “I understand you’ve not wanted to claim any inheritance now that…after…” Tears pool in her eyes regardless of the furious blinking, but Potts manages to hold them back. “I’ve been told you merely wanted to…see if it was right?”

_Lamest reason ever, typical me. _“I gueeess that’s the best way to put it,” you admit, “little too late but…” Flailing your arms, in the hopes the broken sentence makes sense.

“And what do _you_ think?”

“Dunno…might just be ‘cause I’m _looking_ for any resemblance and the wake…there was a lake in between…”

“But…”

There’s nothing accusatory about the question. In fact, it almost sounds kind as if she might care about your feelings. _Why should she?_ An adult appears out of the blue, claiming to be the dead husband’s kid – it isn’t exactly something that people would want to deal with, she has every right to be on guard. _But I just wanted to know….want to know if it’s true._ Not to take anything from her or the daughter, Morgan, just to find some peace. Sneaking in on the draught is a chilled sense of righteousness, screaming at you that wanting to figure out your past isn’t a crime. With no way of moving forward it had made sense to look back, to search for some anchor to steady yourself by while the maelstrom of insecurity keeps trying to pull you in and drown you.

“Look,” you begin authoritatively, “I _get_ I could’ve gone ‘bout this a million other ways if I’d had the right support or whatever, but I didn’t trespass…didn’t intend to interfere.” A delicate reddish eyebrow raises slowly but doesn’t deter you. “So it was foolish to turn up ‘cause what I needed to _know_ wouldn’t be obvious even then, but it’s the closest I could get to _any_thing…maybe feel something? I dunno how I thought I’d get the answers I needed. _Need_. Perhaps I’d’ve walked away without being any wiser if I hadn’t seen his…_your_ daughter. Morgan.” Now both eyebrows have reached the hairline and the sharp eyes could freeze you on the spot. With a hammering heart, you try to explain: “You’ve got the files. _You’ve_ seen the baby pictures of me. You _know_ what I mean.”

For a few treacherous seconds, it’s as if Pepper Potts might end you then and there. But her entire demeanour changes, crumbles in on itself with a sigh as she sits down on an upturned barrel nearby. The barn creaks a bit as it settles under the weight of the snow. A few mice run through a sprinkle of blown away leaves or straw in a corner, but you can’t see them when you look. You’re still wringing the oily cloth between your fingers. Then you hear the sniffle, forcing you to look at the woman holding the secret of your past.

“Morgan…you…” Pepper hiccups into a neat handkerchief, “you look like T-Tony…a lot. But but you even _s-sound_ like and to see you-u working on…”

A vague gesture towards the tractor behind you somehow manages to encompass everything from oil, tools, no, the whole concept of tinkering with machines lies within the unspoken words and hits you harder than expected because now you realize that you might have inherited more than Tony Stark’s looks. _What else?_ Truth is, though, regardless which traits are similar…you will never get to see for yourself: the guy’s dead, apparently leaving two kids behind and a widow to try to deal with it all. _What a jerk._

A tiny, broken laugh escapes Pepper. “I know _that _look too…you’re fee-eeling _oh so_ righteous about something, not just for yourself. If you got the chance, like Tony, you’d try to find some way to fix it for _everyone_.”

“I don–“

“It’s okay, [Y/N].” Your name sounds oddly easy on her lips. Perhaps she notices too because she blushes. “Not everything can be…fixed…not without losing something else.”

There is no need to spell it out. Tony Stark helped sort the biggest mess in Earth’s history by not just undoing the Snappening but by ending the purple space-grape called Thanos. The bill for a repair like that is massive. The news of course are focused on the grander issues from the fall out such as the millions of homeless people and the food shortage now that there’s double the mouths to feed. But on a smaller scale people are still reeling from the shock, some mourn those that will never return. _Tony Stark. Natasha Romanoff._ There are more. Bright memories burning holes in the hearts of loved ones sitting behind.

_What if they could be brought back too? _If Clint could have his best friend again, or Morgan could have her dad? _If I could…?_

“Don’t start down that rabbit hole.” Pepper is somehow right before you, hands reaching for you shoulders slowly as if afraid you might not want to be touched, that you will run off. “It never ends. There’s no peace if you start.” The touch is light while the words are heavy.

Teeth dig sharply into the inside of your cheek before you can talk. “What…what should I do?” _I’m not gonna cry now!_

“Up to you…but maybe you’ll consider coming for a visit to begin with?”

…

By the time Clint comes over to fetch you for dinner, Pepper Potts has been gone for hours and the tractor’s old wiring is lying in a bundle on the work bench ready to be stripped and rewrapped after the rest of the repairs are sorted.

“Hm…guess it’s really happening,” the Avenger grumbles kindly, “the old machine’s gonna run.”

“It’s gonna take some more work, but yeah,” you smile even if only the engine can see it.

At least you can fix this. A small thing to be set right in the middle of a ruined world. Maybe you can repair more things – not just for the Bartons but for the others too? Rhodey’s legs had been whining, and there’s probably a lot of –

“Hey! You _listening_?”

Clint’s outburst makes you bump your head against the rust-spattered metal. _Oops._ The thought is repeated when you realize you’re rubbing the growing bump with your oily hand.

“What?”

“Goddamn it…are _all_ Starks grease-heads?”

It stings and warms your heart simultaneously. “Dunno. What did I miss?”

“I’m not gonna tell you what to do with your life, ‘kay?” The mirth has drained from the eyes, making his alias seem extra fitting. “But I’d suggest you come inside…there’s food and other guests.”

“Who?”

“Steve Rogers and Bucky Barnes.”


	8. We stan

There are fans and then there are über fanboys. Among the latter it’s possible to find not just Nathaniel but Cooper, too, both of them staring at the two WW2 soldiers like it’s the first superheroes they have ever seen. The guests do take it very well, trying to keep up the polite conversation with Clint (who obviously knows them) and Laura who is managing to contain the amusement at watching the kids and their dad’s slight jealousy – not because he isn’t a hero, however being their dad is the category he get’s labeled under instead. To spear Steve and James some of the embarrassment, Lila makes sure to haul the boys away from the table as soon as they’re done eating.

“So, how’ve you settled in?” Steve ask, finally turning his attention fully to you.

A corner of you goes a little bit crazy with amazement over the fact that Captain fucking America is talking to you. _Be cool._ “Pretty good, I think,” you smile sort of in his direction but mostly at your plate, “I’m grateful I’ve gotten to stay here‘ntil I’m back on track…” Laura’s hand squeezes your shoulder briefly, and you know she’s trying to tell you it’s no problem.

“Any thoughts on whatcha want?” Somehow the Captain makes the question sound like he cares and it damn near melts you. “Where d’you wanna go?”

“I’ve kinda been looking at rentals in the city already…for when I’m allowed to leave.” This isn’t news to Laura, and you hear her quiet hum in agreement from where’s she’s bend over the dishwasher. “I wanna finish at uni…’s bout time, right?” _Fuck that smile is perfect._

You have to move your attention from Steven when he’s buddy pipes in: “In New York? I’m trying to find a place too…maybe we can help each other out?” A faint blush spreads to his cheeks for a second. “I mean keeping an eye on adds and stuff…you pro’ly know the city better than I do now.”

“Not sure…things’ve changed whi- after the Snappening.”

“True,” he concedes, “betcha not as much as since ’43.”

The comment makes his co-heroes laugh and Laura laugh. You get it, of course, but what can you do to help him? Still, you promise to keep an eye out for a place suitable for a couple of guys.

“No no, just me! Steve’s my best friend since f’ever, alright, but I ain’t gonna stand being ‘roun him 24/7.”

“You’re the one who snores.”

“Well you take hou–“

Thankfully, Laura interrupts their friendly bickering with steaming much of coffee and pie for dessert.

…

Having said the goodbyes and goodnights, it comes as a surprise when someone knocks on the door to your room. What’s even more startling is that it’s Steve standing there, sheepishly twirling a cell phone in those strong hands.

“I uuh…” he begins, about as coherently as your thoughts are, “I just…’m glad you doing fine and I _know_ Clint an-and Laura will help ya with anythin’…”

“They’ve been really nice, yeah.”

For some reason the man blushes, making him look younger – well, age’s relative when it comes to a man that look to be around 30, technically is born 105 years ago while having been unfrozen for a bit less than half of that. _Or something._ A corner of your brain continues down the track of calculating ages, but most of your focus is applied to the conversation.

“Is…? Are you looking for a place, too?”

“What? Oh, no…no I got a-a place, Bucky’s crashing with me.” Furrowed brows hide the gorgeous eyes before he meets your gaze. “I’ve got some contacts, so I might be able to find you somewhere good ‘nd affordable…if y’wanna.”

_Two heroes on the case…daymn._ “Suuure…that’d be cool. I dunno when I can move though.” _Hint! Hint!_

“We’re working on it. But’s fair to say you can look at enrolling at Uni and…stuff…”

“Oh.” _What?_

Everything, also known as your life, has been on hold since you got caught spying on your biological father’s funeral so the idea of finally moving on is odd. Your belly does a swoop before settling down with heavy feeling. Mostly, you’re happy at the idea of getting on with your plans, but you also feel a bit sad because it means you will have to say goodbye to the Barton’s who you’ve accidentally ended up liking. More than liking. Always cheerful Nathaniel, who welcomed you with open arms; Lila, who comes to you with tea or hot chocolate to gossip and talk about school or friends; Cooper, perhaps more quiet, but often picking your brain when it comes to homework; Laura, who never hesitated to let you into the home and lives she was (is) trying to rebuild for her family while doing the best she can to be there for her husband through the loss of friends.

“[Y/N]…” Steve says softly, and you look up at him but see nothing but a blur. “It’s gonna be okay.”

Strong hands pull you gently into a hug so warm you can’t help but feel safe. Safe enough to let go of all the worries, both past and present, in the form of a steady stream of tears while the man hold you and strokes your hair. There’s no reason to talk, to try to explain. He knows.

It takes a few minutes before you manage to stop crying, and during that time you’re vaguely aware of someone approaching and leaving again. _Laura?_ Eventually, though, you can breathe in a newfound calm freely, realizing for the first time how much energy you’ve been devoting to worrying – not that you have all the answers now, but at least Steven Grant Rogers are telling you things are going to be fine. Of course you believe him.

Pulling back a bit, you see how the grey t-shirt has a huge stain from your tears, and you try to apologize only to be stopped with the reasoning that it’s just water and it will dry. _Thank gods for waterproof mascara!_ It’s with reluctance you step back as he releases you from the embrace.

“If you don’t wanna live alone at first then you can crash at my place.” The words are hurried, proving the man is somewhat shy. “I mean…if…uhm…”

_He’s kidding…_it doesn’t look like it’s a joke though. “That…that might be nice, actually…thanks.”

You mean every word, afraid of what thoughts will come to you at night if you were by yourself instead of a house full of life and, well, friends. And you still want to get on, find momentum once more and reclaim…something. Bright eyes are staring at you with equal parts delight and terror before Captain America does an awkward little bow and then rushes down the stairs, leaving you with a tingle at the back of the knees as if you want to follow. _It’s Captain America_, the inner voice of reason miffs, _everyone wants to follow him._

Logical thoughts or not, you can’t shake the image of his smile as you go to bed, and you end up thinking more about that man than Pepper Potts and your future until sleep finally overpowers you, bringing with it dreams strong arms holding you, and tender lips searching for yours.


	9. Mothers, Sisters, Aunts

… Morgan …

All that wonderful snow just can’t go to waste, but after several wobbly snowmen and one perfect one (thanks to mom) the little girl has thrown herself into a pristine patch out of boredom, carefully considering her options as she sweeps the ground with arms and legs.

“What do these do?” Nebula’s voice pierces the fastmoving thoughts of the little girl.

The grey clouds tilt away, bringing the garden back into view and the blue woman wrapped in a mix of a borrowed bright yellow scarf and a green beanie. She’s crouched in front of a smaller snow figure (an attempt at a dog), bright black eyes taking in the lumpy shape.

“They don’t…_do_ ‘nything,” Morgan admits. _Are they supposed to do something?_

Clearly dissatisfied, Nebula presses on. “Well, what is their purpose?”

“Why make ‘em?” Perhaps Nebs never got to build snowmen as a kid, the little girl realizes with horror. “For _fu-un_. What can _you_ make with snow?”

“Shelter. Like a…hut.”

Morgan’s eye light up with the idea, already adding elaborate details to the construction in forms of turrets and battlements (even if she doesn’t know that is what the bumps on top of the walls are called). And who can deny a pair of big, dark eyes suddenly begging to partner on a project? Not the alien who swore years ago to protect the little one if anything were to happen to Tony, and so Nebula begins to stack the snow in a tremendous pile.

They’re digging out the inside of the mound (or rather, Nebula is excavating while Morgan forms and places blocks in a circle around the domed top) when a car pulls up, causing both constructors to pause and look. Short legs with heavy boots are already moving to run towards Uncle Rhodey when auntie’s voice sharply orders the girl to stay back. It sounds strangely cold and calm and Morgan can’t help to do what she’s told. A knot has formed in her tummy. Breath is quick. _Is something wrong?_ She can’t figure out what it is because the only new is the woman who stepped out from the other side of the car, and one look at _her_ face makes the confused girl feel happy. And sad. _Weird._

… Reader …

They talk like you aren’t there, bickering like a couple married for too long, and even if Rhodes is technically trying to defend you it’s as if he’s more worried about Cyborg Smurf and her feelings, his hands carefully reach out towards the woman, stopping short to protect her boundaries.

“She’s a _spy_!” No more than a hiss that won’t carry further than your straining ears.

“She was…lonely and afraid,” Rhodes insists, “jus’ looking for a family. Y’_know_ what that’s like.”

_Oh?_ If it wasn’t for the very clear memory of a sword then you would be staring at her now. Instead, you add it to the mental list of things that might be handy to know. It’s a long list.

“Want me to trust her? Think aga–“

“No.” The rapid answer stings. “I won’t tell ya what to think, just…accept Pepper’s giving her a chance, ‘ight?”

They continue back and forth, but your attention gets caught by the fluffy remains of a snowball landing on your boot with a soft thunk. It doesn’t take a genius to guess who threw it, but the nerves are gnawing at your insides as you turn to steal a glance at the kid. _My half-sister._ Sure, you might still not have a dad, but you have gotten an oddly stitched-together family to deal with somehow.

There are obvious differences between Tony Stark’s two daughters. The similarities, however? Just as many, and all hailing from the man you never got to know. Nearly identical set of eyes meet, filled with curiosity and a familiarity you know you can explain with logic if only you wanted to. Instead, you send a one-sided smile and lift your hand in a finger wiggling wave which the girl, _Morgan_, copies.

Movements slow, almost leisurely so, as you bend and scoop up a big handful of the cold precipitation to shape loosely in your hands. A wink and a questioning quirk of the brow is enough to send the kid into a silent fit of giggles before the projectile is launched in a soft arc to give her plenty of time to seek cover behind a snow hut in development.

You would have gotten a new handful of snow if it wasn’t for the exasperated sigh and the presence behind you. “Nebu. No!”

_This is gonna be a loooong afternoon._

…

It’s awkward. Not only is the entire reason for you visiting painful, but Pepper tries a bit too hard (bless her soul), Nebula doesn’t try at all, Morgan is wonderfully oblivious to the adults’ tension, and poor Rhodes is trying to navigate it all. You manage to last a few hours, partially due to talking maintenance of the veteran’s leg braces when Pepper was occupied with the kid for a while, but mainly it’s been a sort of sweetened interrogation about your plans with Uni (waiting for an answer on the re-application), the home and job hunt (completely dependant on the study), and anything else they feel like. _Like they’re going through a checklist._

Just as you’re about to ask Rhodes if he can bring you back to the Bartons’, his phone rings and not even the door separating the living room from the hallway is enough to hide how he snaps into military mode.

“Sorry, gotta go,” he offers as explanation when he pops back in, “duty calls.”

And with that he, and your ride, is gone. Moments later you hear the roar of the car, leaving you feeling trapped.

“You…we’ve got a spare guestroom…?”

The hesitation is evident: Pepper might have been the one inviting you but without intention of having you sleep over. No, this visit was no more than a test run to see if you were enough of a Stark or too much for her to want you in the family. She never said that, but you know it. It’s a typical method that you’ve seen one too many times in the foster care system, but this time you don’t blame her.

“I…thanks, but no…I might have another option.” Standing you dig out your phone and navigate past couch, chairs, and toys towards the relative privacy of the hallway.

Clint had given you a bunch of numbers any journalist or fan would kill to have, and right now your scrolling through them until you spot one who happens to live relatively close by and has a couch tested by others as a bed.

Hot and cold dances through your body, dousing the already jittery nerves with fuel. Each time you hear the call tone your heart drops and it doesn’t make sense that it would feel like this – that butterflies in your belly are trying to hold up cold lead.

“[Y/N]?” Of course, anyone would follow the warm baritone if it called out to them. “Uhm…hi!” It’s like the softest wool to your mind, shielding you in a cocoon against doubts or abandonment.

_Everything will be fine._ Then you remember you have to reply. “Yeah, hello! Ehh…” _Smooth, real smooth, ugh!_ “I’m…I was…” _Fuck it._ “You once said I could crash at your place and uhmm…I’m kinda stuck away from Clint and Laura’s an–“

“You’re at To-Pepper’s?”

_How…? _“Yeah. Rhodes just bailed and…it’d feel strange to sleep over, y’know?”

“I get it. On my way.”

“Thanks.”

Both of you hesitate for a moment, making you worry about what you’re supposed to say when Captain freaking America is coming to your rescue, but before you can put any coherent sentence together, he has hung up. The hallway is silent now. The light reflecting off the snow outside, cold despite the yellow hue, and the sliver of light under the closed living room door is all the illumination available. In there, in front of the fireplace, is a tiny family which you theoretically are a part of….just not technically – and standing here in the gloom underlines exactly that.

_How can it ever be different?_ Nothing can replace the life you’ve had. Your own mother. No, perhaps it’s better to just step away and pretend nothing ties you together, let Morgan be the only child left behind by Tony Stark just like she was the only one who got to grow up with him.

Lost in thoughts, you don’t register Morgan skipping out into the hallway until she’s wrapped her little arms up as high as she can around your thighs.

“G’night,” she grins crookedly for a second before sobering up, “please come back soon and make mummy smile more.”

With those words she’s running off up the staircase with not a care in the world while you’re left behind with an uncanny sensation of being watched – hairs stand on end due to the goosebumps running down your spine. _Make mommy smile more, _your semi-sister’s voice echoes inside your head. _Make mommy smile more. Make mommy smile. Smile more. Smile more?_ As a new widow, it would make sense if Pepper doesn’t smile much, the loss being too strong, too present in every little thing. Still, throughout the afternoon she’s smiled and laughed with enough heartfelt joy that the sorrow became invisible if only for a moment. _Did I make her smile?_

Your brows scrunch in confusion and it’s impossible not to look at the silent women who seem to be waiting for you to do or say something. Anything.

“Did…? Have…?” Unsure what to ask the question dies on your lips.

Nebula shuffles, clearly uncomfortable. “The little one likes you, spy.” Danger still gleams in the black nothingness of her eyes but her posture screams doubt. “Perhaps I’ve been mistaken.”

It’s nothing but a tiny twitch of the lips when Pepper bites back a smile. “Would you mind checking that she’s brushing her teeth, Nebu?”

“Certainly, strong teeth are excellent for close combat.”

Once alone, your own awkwardness doubles. _How long would it take Cap to get here?_ Pulling at your arm as if you can make yourself smaller, you’re sure you must appear sort of pathetic.

“It’s…thank you for y’know…havin’ me over,” you try lamely.

Even without high heels, Pepper is still a tall woman and she becomes almost elven in the scarce light. “She’s right, actually,” she admits, “I…it was nice having you here. To get to talk with you…even if it might have felt more like an interrogation…”

“Weeell…I mean…a bit, but that’s pro’lly logical.” _C’mon, man!_ “Kinda hard for it _not_ to fundamentally be freaking strange…all things considered.”

“I haven’t told Morgan anything…” It sounds apologetic, almost. “It’s up to you what role you want in the family.” _Up to…?_ “But the way _I_ see it…you’re Tony’s daughter. You’re family.” You can feel how your lips part at the confession, and you stand there gaping at the woman. “Just…give us time to find a balance.”

Maybe your father knew exactly what he was doing when he married this woman instead of your mom. Regardless: the past is impossible to change while the present is simultaneously tempting and scary due to the multitude of options available. _I get to choose?_ It had been hard enough to put together a few outfits when you went shopping for the first time with Laura and Lila.

You don’t dare to look Pepper in the eyes. “Maybe get to know each other first? Before deciding?”

It’s a gentle hand that shapes around your shoulder, passing on a sense of security. “I like that,” the widow agrees, “you’re always welcome.” She hesitates, and you glance to see her biting her lip as if in doubt. “While you wait…why won’t you come and hear about Tony? Just let me tug Morgan in.”

… Morgan …

Any smart girl knows how important it is for adults to brush their teeth too, and it had been a simple task to convince Aunt Nebula to join in by the sink where they’d competed in looking the grossest with the toothpaste drool, laughing so much Morgan’s cheeks began to hurt.

That giddiness is gone again as the kid crawls into bed. Nebula is standing by the window, staring at the few stars poking out between the clouds and Morgan knows deep inside her little chest that the alien misses flying between the stars.

“They want you back too, Nebu.”

Speaking softly, the words are barely even a whisper that most people would overhear. Not the blue woman. Hiding a sigh, she comes over to sit on the edge of the bed, a hand automatically fidgeting with a knife strapped to the thigh.

“They can wait,” Nebula’s voice cracks a bit, “and instead, when you are older and stronger, we’ll go visit them together.”

“Really?” The child’s smile is contagious, even as it turns into a wistful frown. “Gotta lot to learn first, then.”

… Reader …

There simply isn’t room for anymore stories about your father, the great Tony Stark, but what you have heard is starting to paint a picture of a man much more complex that the news stories and interviews has ever managed to reveal. You shouldn’t be surprised. Neither at the (many) wild years – the last of which you are a result of – nor the dedication he showed when working on a project regardless of the magnitude, and still your mind is spinning from the effort of analyzing every tidbit of new knowledge.

Tired and unable to take more, you are already pulling on your coat and boots to get some fresh air when a car pulls into the long driveway, reminding you of the arrangement and a whole new set of worries. _Steve Rogers._ The name brings a cascade of butterflies with it, untameable despite your best efforts and forcing you to say goodnight and goodbye before it becomes obvious.


	10. Protective

After managing the initial formalities and even getting into the car without making a fool of yourself, there’s little left to say. So, Rhodes had left you behind for some work-thing. Why not take Pepper’s offer? _I can’t…not yet,_ though you explain that differently with excuses of any kind. Perhaps Steve realizes the true reason but if so, then he doesn’t push the agenda in an effort to find out which. You are more than grateful, just like you feel a sense of relief that he doesn’t question you about how the visit went.

How did it go? It’s a lot to take in, that’s for sure.

Tony Stark was a man of transitions more than anything. Every time he had faced something new, he’d go in head on and work his way through until he had transformed it, or it had transformed him – into something more, something greater. Flawed, like most other people, it had been easy for him to follow down a path of less than honorable activities. Then he was forced to learn the truth. Afterwards, Tony sought to use all he had to correct the mistakes he had made. Make a difference. Your estranged father had become a hero to the world through his intellect and stubbornness.

Now people who knew him keep saying how alike the two of you are, how many of his features you share. What is anyone supposed to do with information like that? Become someone new like Tony Stark might have done? Or go on, allowing the well-meant comments fall to the ground and shatter as you turn your back?

There are probably more options, but as much as you would like to think it through, analyze the situation, it’s impossible for your brain to follow a train of thought to the end because of the person sitting to your left.

Hyperaware of Steve, your logical and emotional sides are at war, periodically freezing the hordes of butterflies that just will not give up. Each beat of their wings heat your belly and cheeks only for leaden worry to replace it. And guilt.

Consumed with your own turmoil, you do nothing to keep track of the real world until Steve suddenly cuts the engine, proclaiming the destination has been reached. A few stairs up, the lights of the city visible through narrow windows in the stairwell, and on to a front door which the Captain unlocks before offering your to enter first, like the gentleman he apparently is.

Dark hair swings out of the face as Barnes looks up, nailing you to the spot with his icy eyes. “O_hooo_, so _this_’s the emergency y’didn’t want me along for?”

“Bucky.” There’s a hint of a warning barely hidden there.

“Nah, man, it’s okay,” Bucky chuckles, winking jovially, “Wouldn’t wanna be a third wheel anyways.”

Despite the red ears, there’s no warmth left in Steve’s voice now: “_James_.”

You silently watch a standoff unfold between the blond captain and his friend with the shit-eating grin plastered across his face until, eventually, the cheeky ex-assassin decides to back off to his own room, leaving Steve alone to help you settle for the night.

It’s not a huge place, but from the looks of it it’s perfect for a pair of friends sharing the kitchen, bathroom and living room while having each their own bedroom – at least you did spot a perfectly made bed before Bucky pushed the door shut behind him and somehow you don’t think the two would manage to share a normal sized bed. _King size, minimum?_ Keeping silent, it’s easy to follow Cap through to his room (with a “full”) while he babbles absentmindedly about towels, pillows, and lending out t-shirts for the night.

“– and I’ll keep the light on in the living room so you can find me…I’ll be on the couch…or the or the way to the –“

What he says finally catches your attention. “Wait what?”

“Uhh…light?”

_He looks cute when perplexed_, you realize and promptly try to ignore. “No the…_you_’re not sleeping on the couch.”

“I can’t ask you to do _that_. It’s no big deal, it’s comfy.” A shimmer of the stubbornness from the standoff a moment ago has returned.

_I’ll give you stubborn._ “Good, then I’ll be _perfectly_ fine there, _thank_ you.”

A snigger warns both of you before the tauntingly sarcastic voice booms through the wall: “And tHeRe wAs o-oNly onE Be-eD!”

… Clint …

“She’s an adult.”

Even with woolen socks, the man still manages to stomp as he paces back and forth.

“She’s not our kid, honey.”

Fingers tap restlessly against his thigh, itching to dial Rhodes number or to fire an arrow…maybe at Rhodes. _Good thing he’s not here._

“Her problem solving’s commendable and…” Laura sighs, trying to hide the roll of her eyes behind a hand before stopping her husband with a steely gaze. “_Clinton Francis Barton_. Y’_listenin’_ to me? [Y/N] is an _adult_ and in good hands because she made a smart decision and there’s _nothing_ you can do about it.”

“But –“ He motions wildly to the phone where the messages still can be seen on the screen. “The plan was –“

Laura isn’t just used to dealing with superheroes. She’s a wife and a mother too, and a faithful partner through thick and thin. For years, she’s been preparing for and handling events like this, and Clint is in awe at her calm. _Serenity. _Looking at her, he realizes for the millionth time through their years together that she is his rock by which he can secure himself and find steady ground.

A few deep breaths then he can seek refuge in her embrace. “You’re right, sweetheart,” he admits, “it’s just hard _not_ to be protective o’ her. What if’t’d been Lila?”

“Then Lila would have known what to do too.” He can feel her smile as Laura kisses his head. “We’ve got smart kids…all three and a half.”

Silence falls between the adults, allowing the crackle of firewood to prevail – it’s one of those sounds Clint cherishes too much to remove the hearing aids for. That and birds singing. And the sound of wind in grass. For too many years none of those sounds had carried any meaning because the most important of them all were missing: the voices of his family. Even now when the kids are sleeping and Laura sits quietly, he can still hear them or at the very least their living echo.

“She’s not gone,” she murmurs gently.

_Magical wife. _“I know.”

… Reader …

On a scale from zero (none at all) to ten (the worst possible), the level off awkwardness is steady right about an eleven…maybe a nine if you don’t breathe and move which on the other hand would make it a very uncomfortable experience in other ways. _Who’d have thought?_ To be fair, you did but there’s no way you’re changing your mind now.

Even where you are lying in the darkness, you can feel the heat radiating off of Steve who is lying equally rigid, probably with his hands neatly above the blanket he has insisted on using just so you could have the duvet. At least he accepted you slept with a smaller spare pillow, something you had rejoiced for a moment, foolishly thinking his scent wouldn’t be so overpowering…dude, were you wrong. Careful not to move too much, you squirm until you’re on your side.

“Can’t sleep?” he asks softly.

_Duh._ “Might help if ya sing me a lullaby.”

The mattress shakes with soundless laughter. “Not sure my taste of music’s…y’know…the right kind.”

“What d’you listen to?”

Awkward minutes turn into peaceful hours as the two of you chat about music, books, anything really as time passes until sleep finally overpowers you.

…

_Gnnnnooo…_something big and warm is moving ever so slowly, trying to free itself from under your arm and head. In your sleep muddled brain, it only matters that the being equals safety for some reason. But despite the half-hearted whine you still end up alone although the covers are tugged nicely around you, eliciting a semi-pleased sigh from your lips.

A few minutes pass where you try to silence an insistent nagging in the back of your head, too tempted by sleep to want to dig out the bugger. There is a clang of a pot or something on the stove, jarring your mind a bit further. _Cooking._ The little thought bounces up and down in your spongy brain, already prepping the spotlight for the natural associations. _Person…cooking…person. _Now the nagging is millimeters from turning into realization in all its shiny glory. _Person. Steve._

“Ohshitfuckno!”

Sitting up with a jolt, wide-eyed and hair a mess, everything comes crashing back. The visit yesterday before you called the Captain for a ride. Of course the chat as you both lay there in the dark, pretending and eventually believing it wasn’t weird at all.

“Oh…”

All of it meaning that the person gently pushing you away must have been Steve. Captain America. And you had snuggled him in your sleep.

“Please, kill me now,” you breathe, face hidden behind hands and hair.

“So…no eggs for you?” You can hear the shy smile in Steve’s voice just as clearly as the measured footsteps bringing him to the bed where he sits. “It’s alright, doll…you’re safe here.”

Despite the heat spreading all over your face, you still manage to look at him and return the smile. “I know.”

“Good.” For a moment it looks as though he wants to reach out for you, his hand twitching in the lap but never moving further. “I-uhmm…the Barton’s will probably want you back but…but would you want to visit Banner at his lap?”

There’s a distinct sense of disappointment. Not because you don’t want to check out the renowned scientist’s lab, but because…_because what?_

Pushing away an unformulated theory, you smile gently. “That’d be awesome.”

“Alright.”

And with that he’s leaving to sort the cooking, only pausing to pull a towel out of the cabinet so you can shower.


	11. The Doctor

… Reader …

Breakfast around the small table in the kitchen is more pleasant than expected, disregarding the wiggling eyebrows Bucky keeps flashing. It does help when you convince the veterans to talk about the old days where the lack of modern technology must have made things horribly tedious. Through their stories, you begin to understand why the two men became such good friends and you feel a tickle of regret when you say goodbye to the former Winter Soldier. _Nice guy._

All the worries generally associated with your live outside the Bartons’ farm returns for full power as Steve drives you towards Doctor Bruce Banner’s lab. The Captain is explaining about Banner’s past (as if you didn’t know) and the key role he has played during the struggle against Thanos – something that has left him visibly injured on top of the changes he still deals with.

… Steve …

“This. Is. A_MA_ZING!”

Whatever [Y/N] has gleaned from the specs is beyond Steve, but he loves the way her eyes light up with excitement even if it does bring back painful and all too fresh memories. He doesn’t have to look to know that he would find the same flicker of amber in those dark irises that Tony used to sport but even so, with the affinity for high-tech gadgets and a quick mind, there’s something else to her that the father rarely showed. _Would he’ve been as happy if things had been different?_

The sudden appearance of a blue glow forces Steve to refocus and turn to see that the woman somehow has figured out how to activate the holotable and called forth the 3D version of the plans. A rush of realization chills Steve at the sight of a platform ringed by power cells and emitters of a sort he can’t understand. _Modern stuff_.

“U_huh_…cooool…” she mutters as she zooms in and effortlessly extracts a section to study the details, “solid work there.”

Even with a good memory and a bright head, there’s a lot for the hundred year old guy to learn. Rather than focus on technological details, he’d often left that for Bruce and Tony while allowing himself to be more tactical. _Better start learning. _But where to start? As opposed to [Y/N], he doesn’t have a sense for these things but has to learn it the hard way (though he at least remembers it all).

Steve feels the telltale thumps of Bruce approaching but is too caught up by what’s happening to warn her.

“Oh, I’m still trying to reconstruct the data.” There’s a tone of reproachful guilt in the scientist’s voice. “Not all of it was uploaded in our rush to get it…get it done…”

The green giant is still nursing his arm in a sling (special made, of course), the crackled skin covered in ointment and sticky bandages. _Thank you, Bruce._ He got to live, at least, to see the result of his sacrifice…one of which is standing in the restricted lab and is too amazed by the project before her that she’s forgotten all shyness.

“Makes sense to forego the fad with wormholes,” she beams, setting off a discussion between the two smartest people in the room while Steve just leans back to admire her…_them._

… Reader …

It’s like every cell in your body is vibrating with excitement…and maybe the insane amounts of coffee Dr. Banner had provided unbeknownst to you. Well, you had obviously been drinking the hot liquid like it was water, too absorbed by the calculations on what you now know as the Quantum Tunnel, so maybe it’s a bit your own fault. In fact, you feel guilty enough about your jittery state to imagine that Steve’s smile might be because he’s having fun at your expense.

“I’m not laughing at you,” the blond man promises.

Glancing at him, it’s hard to read his expression when his eyes are fixed on the road like that. _Pretty profile._ Not that “pretty” really covers it. Handsome? Gorgeous? Your fingers drum an unsteady rhythm on the door handle, a foot tapping similarly relentlessly until it has conjured a crooked smile on Steve’s lips.

“Pf…hmr-mp-hr-hm.”

“Captain Rogers?”

“Mhmm? Hm-hm-hm…”

You really, really do try to speak calmly. “Are you…trying to stop yourself from laughing?”

The silence ripples through the car, mixing with the engine’s sounds until it becomes oppressing and breaks like ice on a river as the laughter escapes first Steve and then you. It feels good. No, not just good. It’s freeing and natural as it allows you to lean your head back against the car seat and giggle until your cheeks hurt without worrying about any sort of impression unlike yesterday – the nerves had been frayed before arriving at Pott’s and facing Nebula once more had done little to put you at ease. Steve Rogers? He is the balm on your soul for some reason you can not fathom.

Laughter turns into words that flow easily, laying out your past as the Captain absorbs every tidbit of information with an eagerness only matched by Nathaniel or Morgan. Somehow, the man listens with all of his being.

The hours the ride home to the Bartons’ last is reduced to minutes and you aren’t prepared for when Steve turn onto the gravel lane leading off the main road. Over the hill from where the lights from the house can be seen like warm stars in the darkness, both inviting and foreboding at once - even Steve falls silent as the trees lining the way pass by with snow balancing on the smallest twigs and hugging the branches. Suddenly that open space outside the safety of the car looks deadly cold. Logic struggles to convince you otherwise and as he finally kills the engine just a few steps from the porch.

_I gotta go in. _“Thanks, Steve,” you manage without looking at him, “for bringing m‘ere and…and for gettin’ me…” _Just one more look. _Gods, his eyes are the colour of infinity when you meet them. _What was I saying?_ “Uhm…f-for getting me last night.”

“Anytime,” he breathes.

It would be easier to just get out then and there. Not to say any goodbyes or see-you-laters. Instead you sit there, teeth digging into your lower lip as you contemplate the world of impossible which includes everything from a hug to go visit him properly sometime. Something flickers in Steve’s eyes, sparking a worry within you that you ought to get going and the feeling is strengthened when he lets out a sigh. You just don’t get the chance before his hand has wrapped around the back of your head, drawing you in gently (maybe to give time for you to pull away) until his lips has found yours.

Gone is the doubt, worry, and any semblance of thought, really. Everything around you falls away, leaving the two of you in an endless pool of bliss as he deepens the kiss, parting your lips with the tip of his tongue and drawing a tiny moan from somewhere in your chest.   
It feels like an eternity and a split-second before he pulls back, licking his lips briefly which only makes you swoon mentally for him again. Both of you are out of breath and flushed with a heat that’s been gone from your life longer than you want to calculate.

Steve’s just about to say something when the usual creaking of the screen door announces the arrival of one of the Bartons and by the blush spreading on the Captain’s face when he looks over your shoulder it’s got to be Clint.


	12. Where we will be

… Clint …

His moniker isn’t just a random coincidence, oh no. Clint sees it all, clear as day even if he wishes he hadn’t, including the self-satisfied smile on his friend’s lips as the car is vacated. _Ugh._ Deaf and blind, anyone would be able to sense the oozing stench of charged air between Stark’s oldest daughter and the Captain.

“What,” the father of several children sputters, “d’you _think_ y’all are doin’?”

The girl wisely stays quiet, moving to the booth of the car to get some things as the actual culprit holds up his hands disarmingly. “Barton –“

“Don’t Barton me, Cap.”

Tension still crackles in the wintry chill but this time it’s a very different kind between two men who are testing new roles and rules. Same players dumped into a different game none of them have prepared for. _Nat would know what to say._ It leaves a bitter taste to admit yet again how much of the whole has gone with the redhead. _Not now._ Steeling his jaw, Clint straightens up (without really reaching the other man’s height) in an unconscious effort to assert himself, gain the upper hand in this discussion.

“I…I get it,” Steve surprisingly admits, shoulders slumping a bit, “I didn’t plan for this, man.”

A smaller figure sidles up to them. Backpack slung over a shoulder, boot toes digging shyly into the snow, [Y/N] looks partially like a kid not too different from Clint’s own but he can’t ignore the bits which other people might see clearer. Detaching himself from the idea of the former homeless girl under his protection, he focuses instead on the aspects he knows Natasha would point out as belonging to an adult. The confident set of the jaw, obviously a body that – _Gah! No, not even gonna think that, c’mON, Steve!_

“She’s Tony’s kid, Steve!”

“I’m an _adult_, thank you.”

“He’s…what? Almost 100 years older?”

“Low shot. You’ve been awake for more years than him!”

“Hey!” Clint bristles at the accusation even if he can’t truly object to it. “Get inside, young lady.”

Of course she makes a show of lingering as she says goodbye to Steve. It’s almost sweet, the way the super soldier melts under her gaze and smiles like a goddamn fool. In fact…_when does he ever smile like that_? Around Bucky? Almost, but not quite.

…

Laura’s cross with him, just like Lila is and even the boys! And [Y/N]? She’s probably pissed off more than (almost) Clint self and has practically done what he would have told her to if he had had the chance to. _Hrmph._ The door had slammed so hard that Nathaniel dropped his cookies.

“Am I the _only_ sane person ‘ere?” The kids have trudged off to their rooms, leaving just Laura behind as a silent audience to the rambling. “It’s…I mean…she’s an adult bu-but she’s Tony’s kid, damnit! What if Wanda started dating Cooper?”

The lips of the ever-patient wife twitches in amusement though no words are uttered. Carrots, bread, chicken, and more is added to Nathaniel’s little pink lunchbox with the precision only years can give. Calm hands. _Perfect._ Looking at his own hands, Clint can barely recognize one scar from the other even if he can remember most of the missions and “adventures” behind them.

“So…I should just let ‘em…date?”

“Yes.”

The lid is placed on the box and secured with two sharp clicks.

_Wait what? _“But they were making out! In the car!”

“Yes.”

“Y’don’t wanna say something else than that?” Clint can see Laura’s shoulders shake from the laughter she’s holding in. “Never mind.”

… Reader …

You’ve been holding your breath and walking on eggshells around Clint for days just waiting for the other shoe to drop. But nothing happens. Well, that is to say: nothing happens on that front.

What has been happening includes interesting talks with Dr. Banner and a guy named Scott Lang who happens to know a bit about electrical engineering. Together, the three of you are fine-tuning the Quantum Tunnel. You’d love to actually be with them at the lab, but it seems like it’s tempting the devil to ask for a ride in the direction of Steve.

_Steve. _

His name floats through your brain like a sweet summer breeze drifting on the music from your headphones. All the music you listen to at the moment are ballads and declarations of feelings by your favourite, classic rock bands and lovey-dovey indie which Lila has been quick to update you on.

_Steve._

If only you could get accepted at your first priority which happens to be in New York, then you could be closer to him. Have time to figure things out. Shape your own life without turning the back to what your heart seems to be longing for.

_Steve._

He calls every day at least once. Sometimes you can hear Bucky or their friend Sam in the background teasing him and yelling things for you that are supposed to embarrass your…_my what?_ There’s a whole truckload of chemistry going on and barely a moment goes by where your mind doesn’t slip to how it could be if you were with Steve, but still you do not dare to call him your boyfriend. More than friends, sure. And Steve is not really hiding the romantic intentions. _Easy to say, harder to do._

A hand silently reaches over and picks the pencil out of yours, startling you for a second until you recognize it. _Steve!_ The cord from the headphones tangle around your wrist as you yank them off and turn to face him.

The lips find yours as effortlessly this time too, molding and moving to a melody just for two that sends ripples of heat through your body until fingers clench to draw him impossibly closer. It’s impossible to tire of it. Steve has a way of sweeping the tongue tip along the seem of your lips to gain entrance, drinking in the silenced moan. But this time he pulls away. _No-o!_

“No rush, doll,” he smiles and lifts you easily into his arms where you wrap your legs around him, “I’m hoping I’ll get to kiss y’even more before the night’s over.”

Tilting you head, you are left with no clues. “Oh yeah? Sounds like you got plans?”

“Yeah, we’re celebrating.”

Maybe it’s his title that has made Steve think he can get away with all sorts of things, at least he drops you unceremoniously on the bed only to laugh at it as he pulls something out of a pocket. White and flat with harsh printed letters and a large seal on it that announces exactly where it’s from.

“Here, genius,” he proffers the envelope from Uni towards you, “I’m sure it’s good news.”


	13. An open Door

From the fallen tree by the lakeshore, you can’t see what’s going on on the other side of the ridge where the sun filters through branches with bright green buds.

You can’t see neither the subdued concern bordering on sorrow in Bucky’s eyes when he hugs his oldest friend nor Sam’s lips mouthing the numbers of a countdown. Strictly speaking, he doesn’t have to keep track of the seconds because there’s a panel showing them in bright red.

You can’t see how Bucky bows his head in defeated acknowledgment when the deadline is passed, and the timer goes into the negative numbers. The other men scramble, trying to see if something went wrong. Maybe they need to change something? This Quantum Tunnel is slightly different with it’s improved calculations and software, so maybe you or Scott Lang gave the wrong instructions to Banner? Or…?

You can’t see when the machine kicks into action, materializing Steve onto the round platform to the delight of two men…and surprise of one.

What you do see is the wobbly attempt at a family tree that Morgan and Parker are making in the narrow strip of sand just out of the reach of the lazy ripples of cold water.

After a few months of visits back and forth, you and Pepper had decided to sit the little girl down and explain to her that you were more than just a friend of the family. It had taken a moment for the little girl to mull it over before she looked at the two of you with keen eyes and asked if you still would stay for dinner.

Now the girl is dictating Peter who is in control of the stick. “_That_ line’s for [Y/N] ‘cause she’s mah _sis_tah!”

“She’s lucky to have _you_ as a little sis.”

“Then you’re lucky too! Hmm…where d’we put your line?”

Yeah, your family has grown exponentially in directions you never could have foreseen. In fact, it might be correct to make that plural because the Bartons are having a hard time letting you go and especially Clint has taken it upon himself to bother kind Happy with every little detail about the apartment you’ve found. Both have strong opinions about security (where they agree) and who should have free access to the place (big differences there). Thankfully, both Laura and Pepper are backing you up and insisting that you should have the power to amend the list yourself without their approval.

“She’s lucky to have a big sister,” the gruff voice of Nebula breaks through your wandering thoughts.

Looking over at her, her black eyes are aimed at the sky. She is probably looking towards a distant planet or a spaceship where a green-skinned alien is busy chasing fortune. The relationship between the two women – orphaned and adopted by a purple prune - has been more than turbulent, and though Nebula has been able to save the life of past Gamora, she still lost the closest thing to a sister while gaining an entire family here on Earth.

“She’s lucky to have a blue alien for aunt,” you counter.

A little bird tweets from up by the crest, drawing your eyes to three men standing there. Even from this distance they are easy to recognize and one in particular brings warmth racing through your body.

… Steve …

“Good to’ave ya back, punk,” Bucky smiles so brightly it almost obscures the hidden question.

“Yeah,” Steve admits, “decided to take the advice a good friend once gave me.” Down by the lake, a woman turns in her seat on a fallen tree. “Got my second chance right here…can’t roll the dice again.”

The two other men understand him, each silently thinking who or what might ground their fleeting hearts n the future. If any of them a jealous of Steve’s choice, they don’t say it. They just stand quietly, enjoying the knowledge that all the horrible things they have gone through somehow have let to this moment of peace between the budding trees.

“Got something for you, Buck.”

Steve digs into one of the pockets on the suit, pulling out a carefully bundled stack of photographs and drawings and hands them over. It had been tricky to get them until he had remembered about the key beneath the brick by the door, but he admits he’s have broken down the entire building to get to them just for the sake of the look on Bucky’s face now.

“And Sam…this’s for you,” the Captain continues as he holds out the shield to his friend, “I’ll be around…help you out…but it’s up to you now.”


End file.
